


Swing Batter Swing

by SeanCharm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Brett & Mason, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Stiles & Mason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-05-24 22:20:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6168826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeanCharm/pseuds/SeanCharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life in Beacon Hills is not easy for anybody. But if you maintain a positive attitude you can make your own silver linings.</p><p>Hanging out with friends, sneaking around with your boyfriend(?), and learning to beat the crap out of supernatural villans are all parts of Mason's very important agenda.</p><p>Ain't nobody gonna get in his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happening sometime before the Mason Reveal. Could be interpreted as occuring in the same universe as Should I stay or should I bowl, but not necessarily.
> 
> Unbetaed

The night was cool and the bustling noises of teenagers chatting with illegally acquired drinks drinks at Sinema ‘s closest parking lot filled the otherwise unremarkable summer holiday’s evening around them.

The can in Mason’s hand contained the slightly warm and truly disgusting scarce remains of beer which he had convinced Brett to buy them with his fake ID. Them being Liam, Hayden, Corey and himself. It was a Thursday, one of Hayden’s nights off, and she had radically refused neither to step inside the club nor to sneak out a meager bottle of vodka from the club. Mason had used his people’s person skills to still talk her into coming out with them there anyway, and had identified Brett as their best possible option to acquire the drinks they sorely needed.

Now, were-creatures did not get drunk by normal human standards, so that had required a little bit of supernatural peddling on Mason’s part. Not that it had been all that difficult when you knew the right people.

By that he meant of course Stiles. Well, not Stiles the person. More like, Stiles’ magic powder cache. For the briefest of moments he had considered raiding it, but his better nature won out and he opted for his second best burglary trick: Asking Politely.

“So what you’re asking me is to give you this stuff that saves our asses to get your asses drunk instead?” asked Stiles one afternoon in his bedroom after their weekly beat-shit-up-with-a-bat meet-up. It had been one week before Mason’s night out plan. He liked being well prepared.

Both of them were dripping sweat and Stiles’s light grey t-shirt was so drenched it was almost see-through. If Mason were older and things were different and less insane or Stiles younger or a hundred additional or’s, maybe Mason would look at him and consider. But he didn’t really at all. So, he just looked.

Also, the supernatural crime/conspiracy clipboard with pictures of monsters and dead people inside his room was unnerving and deterring.

“I—am?” it was the irresponsible truth, so he saw no way around that.

Stiles sighed and scratched the back of his neck at lightning speed. “Is not that I disapprove on paper”, he said. “But you understand that if I was to give you this, Scott would totally have my neck so I can’t. Not if he found out.”

“So… that’s a yes. Right?”

“Weren’t you listening, Mason? That’s not a yes!” He walked over to his closet with that weird black hole painting on its right, opened it and crouched. “Scott wouldn’t want his only beta with a low guard with a giant beast running around,” he continued, rummaging around. “Which means no.”

He tossed Mason a small glass jar with shiny black dust inside.

“Don’t’ come to me with that again, got it? Now get out, I gotta shower.”

That had been it for the wolfsbane. The alcohol had proven a bit less convoluted. He knew someone with a great fake ID.

 

_ _

 

This flawlessly executed plan had brought them here to this evening of bonding; Liam and Hayden on top of each other, Brett and Corey in a heated debate over lacrosse versus hockey, and Mason himself simply enjoying the tepid glow of cheap beer and the good company.

He guessed it might as well be time to break up the two boy’s ridiculous nonsense and smoothly slid into the narrow gap between them, six-pack in hand.

“You guys need to stop,” he said, removing the cans they were holding from their grip and then providing them with fresh refreshments. “Sports are dumb, who cares. You, Brett, are good at yours,” he conceded, stressing his point with a finger jab to his massive, lean chest. “And _you_ , dude, are-- Wait”, he just realized he hadn’t heard Corey mention anything about hockey before. “Do you even play hockey?”

Corey raised a cocky eyebrow in affront, but the effect was somewhat undermined by his stuttering. “Tsk, yeah, I, no. I _watch it_. It’s not like you need to play a sport to have an opinion on it.”

Brett and Mason shared a look.

“Yeah, no, I think you do, in this conversation,” shrugged Mason. Diplomatically, he hoped.

Brett slid an arm around Mason’s shoulder and nodded pointedly, once. “Your boy’s right, Corey. No play no say.”

The look on Corey’s face left Mason feeling a little awkward and he tried to shake off Brett’s arm vice. He obviously didn’t have the strength for it, though.

“‘Sides, you oughtta listen to everything this guy here says,” continued Brett undeterred, slapping Mason on the shoulder too, “he’s a keeper. Got his heart in the right place.”

Mason could feel his face burning a bit in embarrassment as Brett leaned into Corey’s personal space and told him solemnly, “You better take good care of him, alright? I’ll be watching out for him.”

The awkward silence that ensued didn’t seem to faze Brett in the least. Thankfully it was broken by Liam striding over to them like a small but irate baby animal.

“What do you think you’re doing, Talbot? Leave. Mason. Alone.”

“He isn’t actually—,” interjected Mason futilely. As if he had a chance to get between these two. He wasn’t going to put in much effort.

“Dunbar,” drawled Brett from his towering throne way up high from Overwhelming Height Difference Land, “You don’t wanna have a go at me, bro. When have you ever won against me in anything. Ever?”

Maybe spicing up the alcohol with wolfsbane hadn’t been one of Mason’s best ideas to date, he admitted to himself.

“Well, if I may say something,” interrupted Hayden before Liam died from a rage-fueled aneurism. “I heard you talking trash before about how challenging and great lacrosse is and all. When everyone in their right mind knows soccer is where it’s at. So excuse us if we don’t take your boasts very seriously.”

In spite of the fact that her messing with lacrosse meant she was dissing Liam’s sport of choice as well, this seemed to be the perfect strategy to divert Liam’s fiery anger and Brett’s attention from each other.

He… he had never seen anything so coldly calculated and brave at the same time. He felt in sudden awe at Hayden’s prowess and smug face, and quickly took a mental note to watch out for her dialectic tactics. He scribbled it in his mind’s notebook, right next to his 6th grade detailed annotations on her mean right hook.

He glanced over to Corey, who had remained silent all throughout, and he received a friendly, if waned, grin. If he had to be honest, there hadn’t been enough time yet to get to know Corey as well as he wanted to. Life’s evil, sinister plot twists kept getting in the way. But Mason was damn tired of that. He refused to have any sort of petty drama between them. Things were complicated enough as they were.

Cans were lying around on the parking lot’s ground, and he stepped around them on his short way to Corey’s side.

“Um, so I just made the mature decision of talking to you head on about, ehm, any boy trouble misconceptions you may be having,” he informed Corey, bumping shoulders with him. He didn’t even need to whisper his emotional confessions, thanks to the loud shouts of “Are you seriously comparing the WLC to FIFA’s World Cup?!” that ensured their privacy.

Corey half scoffed, half chuckled. “Okay…”

“Shut up, let me finish,” ordered Mason. Mature. Straightforward. “Brett and I are not a thing. Honestly? I don’t know if he’s interested. Probably not. I mean, I don’t think he sees me that way. AND EVEN IF HE DID”, easy on the honesty, dude! “Even if he did, I’m with you. I chose you and I don’t regret it. We are—whatever it is we are, the important thing is that we’re together and I love that.”

He had given it his best shot, but he hadn’t been able to help staring with laser focus at his shoelaces while he said that.

He wasn’t 21 yet. Adulthood was still a few years away. No need to rush the maturity thing.

He felt a hand sliding under his, gripping it softly, accompanied by the soft whisper of Corey’s mouth against his ear.

“Are you saying you don’t think we’re boyfriends, Mason?”

He would have replied, but he thought Corey might have paralyzing neurotoxins in his breath or something. He wouldn’t put it past his chimera potpourri gene pool.

“I’d really like us to be,” Corey went on. “So I guess I’ll just ask you properly.”

Yep. Neurotoxins. 110% sure.

Probably illegal too, in most states.

Corey clearly interpreted his silence as a sign to carry on whispering indecently hot stuff. “Do you wanna be--?”

“Oh god yes, please, just stop, I’m going crazy here!”

He believed he kind of shouted that, but he couldn’t be bothered to check how the others reacted, busy as he was grabbing Corey’s face with his hands and putting his mouth on his.

He felt Corey’s hands sliding down to his waist, holding him tightly, and then slowly moving farther down. Corey rested them there for a moment, and then brought Mason closer, both bodies pressing together a little bit roughly, but a little bit perfectly too.

When they pulled apart after one or ninety minutes, who the hell knew, the first thought to brilliantly pop into Mason’s mind was how he had now officially acquired a boyfriend with whom he could sneak into his room _absolutely undetected_.

“We’re going back to my place in half an hour,” Mason informed the world at large and immediately dived back into Corey’s everything.

 

***

 

He had read somewhere that hypnagogia was a state favored by many people for artistic expression and sensory recreation.

He certainly agreed wholeheartedly with latter as he lay in bed, spooned sublimely by Corey, sunlight coming in strongly from the slightly open window. The night had been extremely warm, but now a faint morning breeze blew in from the outside, stroking his skin as softly as he traced trails with his fingertips over Corey’s hands.

It hadn’t—they hadn’t gone all the way. Mason wasn’t yet ready for that, he felt. Not that he needed it either. Last night had been amazing in ways he was still trying to process.

“You sleep okay?” he heard Corey say behind him as he hugged Mason a bit more tightly.

He wondered if he could work out the logistics of never dissolving the sacred union that was spooning.

Maybe after years of intensive hands-on research…

“Mmmh, yeah,” he managed to answer in a raspy voice. “You?”

“Same. But did you know you talk in your sleep?”

“I do not!” He would have known that by now. Probably. His family would’ve made fun of him for that already.

Corey laughed.

“You totally do. Thing is, I think I heard French in there somewhere?”

“Now you’re just trolling me.”

“I’m not kidding! I guess I bring it out of you. The language of romance…”

“Gah! Shut up!”

They were both cracking up by then, although quietly. Mason’s parents were home, after all. It was a good thing that they never came into his bedroom since he was a little kid. They were super respectful with boundaries in his family.

The door to Mason’s room opened and Stiles waltzed in wearing a Mets cap and carrying a bat over his right shoulder.

It took the three of them about a fraction of a second or so (probably two, two fractions) to let out a scream.

Mason flailed his arms and legs wildly as he tried to get off the bed and fell to the floor. While Stiles, not content to grab second place at dramatics, ran into Mason’s revolving chair, dropping his bat and crashing down to the floor, taking the chair full of stacked clothes down with him.

Thankfully, Corey’s first instinct was to turn invisible, so whatever stupid slapstick skit his body decided to betray him with was known only to himself. Which unfortunately, though, didn’t save him from the toxic levels of second-hand embarrassment saturating the room.

He and Mason had been wearing their underwear, true, but Mason would only appreciate that tiny mercy 10 minutes later in retrospect. Right then, his brain wasn’t providing him with much in the way of intelligible thoughts.

“Stiles, what the hell!” snapped a disembodied high-pitched voice on Mason’s bed. “Mason, _what’s he doing here_?”

Buried under a load of Mason’s clean clothes, Stiles lifted his hands as in surrender.

“Weekly self-defense training!” he informed, while removing Mason’s jeans from the top of his head. His eyes immediately darted to the ceiling, avoiding intently any sight of freshmen boyfriends. “We do this all the time. It’s 11.30, Mason, I texted and tried calling but you didn’t answer. I came to check in on you. Couldn’t you tell me you were having a sleepover? Texting. Not so hard.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever, just toss me my jeans!” demanded Mason.

Stiles threw the jeans previously sitting on top of his head in Mason’s general direction, but without removing his eyes from the ceiling. Naturally, they hit Corey right on the face instead.

“Ow!”

“Is everything alright, dear?” yelled Mason’s mother from downstairs.

He sighed and shut his eyes.

This wasn’t happening.

“Everything’s fine, mom!” he lied. “I’ll be down in a sec!” He pointed from Stiles to the door. “Out please, I’m coming, but give me a minute.”

“You’re going?” Corey’s voice was affronted. He still had no visible facial expression to interpret. Not that it was necessary.

“Hey! This stuff is life or death, Rango,” barked Stiles, propping up from the floor with the bat. “Do you want your boyfriend to get mauled by berserker were-tapirs one of these days?”

He closed the door behind him and Mason got on his feet, pulling up his jeans and grabbing his rings from the nightstand.

“He does have a point,” granted Corey, becoming visible again.

Mason shrugged exaggeratedly and nodded.

“What do you guys even do?” Corey wanted to know, reasonably.

“Abandoned car junkyard,” replied Mason a bit distractedly. “We beat stuff up with bats.”

Scrunching up his face, Corey seemed to be making up his mind about something. Mason was now rummaging through the mess of clean clothes on the floor looking for a decent t-shirt.

“Alright, I’m coming too,” declared Corey getting out of bed.

Mason made sure to take a moment to unapologetically check him out in his boxers before answering him.

“Don’t feel like you have to. It’ll probably be very boring to watch.”

“Seeing you wreck things with a bat? Cars and stuff?” he actually sounded excited. “You know I love Street Fighter II, right?”

“How could I not?” Corey had made him play hours of games as old as themselves to teach him to appreciate ‘true gaming’. Mason wasn’t all that convinced yet. “I’m not sure I look as good as Chun Li busting windshields, though.”

Corey winked at him.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe it's taken so long to write such a short chapter, but things work out the way they do.
> 
> Still going to be one more after this one just fyi. Soon I'd say.

It was midday by the time they were jumping out of Stiles’ jeep and the sun was scorching anything and everything under it. Heated air rippled from the tops of rusted, bent-shaped, wrecked cars.  They had all brought caps with them but they weren’t providing that much protection anyway. Mason had been the only one to go with shades, though, because he rocked them, but his arms were already soaking up the burning sunlight. The entrance to the scrapyard was at the end of an unpaved road and dust was still floating around them after they parked. He was starting to regret his decision to come already.

Next to him Corey was squinting so much Mason wondered if he could actually see anything. He did bump shoulders with Mason as they walked to the rusty entrance gates, but he couldn’t be sure if that was intentional.

Stiles removed the chains at the gate that gave the appearance of locking it but were nothing more than dubious decoration and they marched in together.

“No point in asking if there’s a pool around here somewhere, I’m guessing,” grunted Corey while craning his neck to look around.

 “Sorry, man”, answered Mason and patted his back. “Where to, Stiles? We’ve done in all those on this side.”

Stile’s hands moved in quick, random circles before both pointed to a path kind of like a corridor, flanked by two walls of cars crushed under more and more cars. They were so tall they cast an attractive shade in the space between. “Around that old red and white Camaro we saw the other day?” he suggested. “’Member?”

He couldn’t say he did. Mason wasn’t big on cars, save for his own. Brand new, shiny. Perfect. It was Stiles who was always on about this engine or that paintjob, usually before bringing his bat down hard on a windshield. Mason suspected it he suffered from some kind of pent-up automotive frustration; there wasn’t a week in which he didn’t see Stiles repairing his jeep, after all.

Stiles set off before waiting for an answer and Mason followed suit. He only had to stop for a moment when Corey held him by the hand and then they marched together grinning like dorks among piles of complete junk.

“It’s cool that you’re coming with,” said Mason. “You probably have better things to do.”

Corey smiled slyly. “The best thing I’ve been doing recently is right here.”

Mason almost busted a lung laughing. “I don’t know how you get away with saying stuff like this, dude.”

“It’s not bad to be a bit shameless, you know? You only live once, after all” shrugged Corey and then paused. “Well, _you know what I mean_. What’s the point in keeping things in? If you want something, do it.”

“Right, wouldn’t want to pass up an opportunity to embarrass me” added Mason jokingly.

“What, no? There’s no one else here. Why would you--?”

“Yo, there’s a Stiles present,” said, obviously, Stiles, who was walking a few paces in front of them. “Although there’s really nothing you could do to embarrass yourselves in front of me. Remember my best friend is Scott McCall.”

Mason and Corey looked at each other.

“So?” said Mason.

“You know how Scott gets when… oh,” Stiles keeps walking but falls silent for a second. “Yeah, you weren’t there when he was with Allison. Forget I said anything.”

Corey raised an eyebrow as if waiting for an explanation, but Mason just shook his head.

“Later,” he promised.

The thing was, Mason knew what the story was with Allison, and given how fraught with tension and actual deaths their lives were right now, he didn’t want to get into it _at all_. Not then, not later. What Mason also didn’t say was how that was exactly what was worrying him as of late. Corey being reckless and getting involved in the supernatural drama, not because he had to but because he _insisted_ on it. Being stuck in the middle between Scott’s pack and Theo’s gang was a risk he didn’t want him taking. He had told him how he felt about it but it’d been pointless. Corey had a tendency to get himself hurt over and over again and never learning to listen. It made Mason squirm on the inside.

There was a long history of people getting hurt really badly or killed in Beacon Hills. People quite specifically like them. Corey had asked him to stay alive with him that time at the changing room.

Maybe Mason should ask him the same damn thing.

“Anyways,” continued Corey, defusing the gloominess, if not a little awkwardly. “I think we’ve maybe had our share of embarrassment today,what with Stiles back at your place.” They were almost out of the passage now, bright light up ahead, a clearing with scattered vehicles, large enough to fit an Olympic pool.

Mason snorted. “Yeah, let’s not mention that ever again. Especially in front of Liam. Or Lydia. He would never let me live it down, and Lydia’s respect is hard-won. Don’t wanna mess that up.”

Corey snickered. “Cross my heart.”

Out in the open again, Mason could appreciate the space they had to practice their moves. They were still surrounded by columns of cars, but quite a few of them lay scattered on the ground over a big area with ample room for swinging and even a bit of running.

Stiles leaned back against what Mason assumed was the red and white Camaro he’d mentioned before. “Alright! Warm-up time!” he shouted. “Fifty push-ups.”

Mason groaned but no amount of groaning had ever worked on Stiles in the past, so he knew it was unavoidable. He wasn’t in the mood for this today, though.

“Come on, I’ll do them too,” told him Corey encouragingly, but a frowning Stiles pointed at him before he could do anything else.

“No, no, no,” he barked. “No were-creature strength in our trainings. This,” he gesticulated wildly as if herding tiny sheep into a pen. “This is a human restricted activity. You want to do something, do it on your own. Go bench-press that Prius or something.”

“Wha—” exclaimed Mason indignantly, but Corey shook his head in appeasement, if a little pissed off.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Bat-man’s actually right. You do your thing, I’ll be over there. Bench-pressing _a van_.”

He sneered at Stiles and Stiles grinned.

“Heh,” Stiles looked at Mason giddily. “He called me Batman.”

Twenty minutes later they were completely drenched in sweat, their shirts lay tossed to the side somewhere with shade, avoiding the glass, chunks of metal, and plastic that littered the ground in all directions. They’d already practiced their right and lefts swings, blocking downward blows from the front, and were in the midst of a pretty difficult dodge, dodge, block right, crouch, upward strike combo.

Breathing heavily, Mason slumped and rested his weight putting his hands on his knees. It was true that Stiles had suggested a healthy dietary plan at the beginning of their sessions, a suggestion that Mason had wholeheartedly dismissed, but maybe he had been too quick to put the idea aside. Had he decided to go on it, he would have had Liam’s support too, what with his constant jibes during workout or his rants about carbs and protein shakes… Actually, Mason was willing to skip the diet completely just to spite him.

He sighed and turned to look at the corner where a Smart was being benchpressed at a steady rhythm by an only slightly sweaty Corey. He knew it was stupid to think it, but watching Corey do anything that required physical strength made him queasy. He could still bring up more easily than he’d like to Corey’s face splattered silver and red. Not that he ever wanted to. But they didn’t have any real guarantee that that wasn’t going to happen again.

He looked away from Corey and his gaze rambled across the dusty, well-trodden ground. “I wish we didn’t have to do this,” he said morosely. “The sparky, swishy, and jumpy parts are alright. The near deaths and the actual dying are doing a number on me.”

“Tell me about it,” commiserated Stiles. “And you’d think it’d be worse in the beginning, it feels that way for a while, but then in hindsight … You miss how simple it actually is in the beginning.”

“That’s uplifting.”

“It is what it is,” Stiles looked somewhat angry then. Mason was still collecting the tidbits the pack shared from time to time, but he still didn’t know about all the stuff they’d had to deal with over the years. “The only way to try to avoid all the suck is to be 10 steps ahead of it. And that’s still not enough.”

Yes. Mason knew about Allison, knew about Aiden, and Boyd and Erica.

Right now it was Liam and Hayden against the world. Corey and him staying alive together. But then there were Stiles and Malia splitting up. And Scott and Kira messed up in a way he was sure no romantic comedy could turn into something wacky and cheesy and easily solvable.

Mason didn’t care about it in the way his younger self would have: an epic and daring love defying all odds and coming out of adversity triumphant and closer than ever. He had surprised himself by realizing the only thing that mattered was making sure Corey was safe. They could run away together. Or Corey could leave by himself. It didn’t have to be the two of them together.

“I just want him to survive all of this.”

“That’s very noble and all, but our “chosen lifestyle” doesn’t guarantee that, Mason.”

“We could always run,” interjected Mason half-heartedly.

They way Stiles looked at him then showed him Stiles knew he didn’t want that. Mason was no selfish asshole, he wouldn’t leave these guys to their luck and never look back.

There was a vibrating sound and Mason saw Stiles reach for his jeans’ pocket. Immediately after, he heard his own phone’s tone ring by Corey’s side where he had left it. Corey pushed the car he was lifting aside, grabbed the cell and motioned for Mason to catch it.

“”No no no, don’t! I’ll never get it, just—wait,” he rolled his eyes in frustration and jogged over to where Corey was leaning back. He crouched, quickly kissed Corey on the forehead (it tasted salty), and grabbed his phone.

Lost call from Liam.

“Got a text from Scott,” he heard Stiles somewhat circumspect voice from behind. “He’s coming over.”

Mason nodded, wondering what the deal was, and was about to text Liam when he saw he was already in the middle of texting something to Mason.

[Liam]: _Stay where you r. Were comin_

“Liam’s coming too,” he told the others, his heart already picking up the pace. Dread Doctors? Chimera attack? No, not the latter. Corey would know about that.

At that moment, Corey got to his feet and looked around for his T-shirt. “I better leave then,” he announced a little sullen. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

“What? No. You don’t need to. This ain’t an inner circle meeting or anything,” he glanced over at Stiles fleetingly. “Isn’t it?”

“Corey, you need to stay,” Stiles’s voice was firm and there was a glint in his eyes that made Mason twitch for some reason. Even when he was hitting stuff with his bat, Stiles demeanor seemed playful and carefree. There was a sense of danger to him now. Like he could really hurt you if he wanted it. He’d better not be directing that vibe towards Corey. “Scott asks that you stay.”

Corey and Mason shared a look.

“What’s going on?” asked Corey. It wasn’t hard to see he was scared. Mason didn’t blame him.

“Let’s just wait for Scott. Please,” asked Stiles.

 

\--

 

Turned out what Scott wanted was, in no way conceivable, something would have liked hearing at any point in his life. And most particularly after just having discussed their lives’ perilious circumstances.

On Scott’s bike had come not only the man himself but Kira as well, which Mason could decide to make nothing of, or, probably more accurately, to consider it as the Alpha bringing along his deadliest and most versatile asset in case things went south and got ugly.

Ugly they most definitely were for sure, Scott had dropped by to inform them of Theo’s latest display of evil douchbaginess.

“An inside guy’s told us Theo’s decided to clean house,” said Scott gravely. “He wants to start with you Corey, but we’re not letting him put a finger on you.”

Mason was sure Scott made his best effort to sound reassuring, but Corey was not looking any less freaked out. They all had, intentionally or not, made a semicircle around him, and with a pile of scrapyard cars at his back he began to look a little like a scared and cornered stray dog.

Mason, who hadn’t left his side for a second, huddled even closer and held him by the hand. It was sweaty and slippery and cold to the touch. Mason gripped him harder still.

“So what’s the plan? Do we have a plan?” Mason was really counting on them to have a plan. He’d build one up from scratch right now if he had to.

“Yeah, yes, we do, don’t we?” offered Kira somewhat hesitantly looking around. “I mean, is it a plan if it only has one part?”

“We’ll take it” said Mason in a rush.

Corey still wasn’t saying anything and it was making him feel really restless. He had the feeling he might bolt any minute, and how was he supposed to find a guy who made himself undetectable?  

 _How do I make you stay_ , he thought as he looked into Corey’s eyes.

Corey, obviously, did not answer him.


End file.
